


Send Offs 3

by sardonicsmiley



Series: Send Offs [3]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 05:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21192590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sardonicsmiley/pseuds/sardonicsmiley
Summary: *shifty look* Okay, so, this isn't actually porn. I think because my brain had decided that the idea of whore!Rodney travelling the galaxy with runner!Ronon and the epic of their unfolding love story was the way to go. *cough* So, it's more how they met than how they fucked. *scuffs feet*





	Send Offs 3

Ronon knows that he shouldn't be here, in this city. But he's went to too many industrial worlds in a row, places where there was nothing for him to hunt and nothing for him to scavenge and his supplies have almost run out. So he has to be here, among people no matter the risk to them, just long enough to steal enough food to keep him alive for a few more days. 

The sky above this world is gray and ugly, and it rains all the time. Ronon's only been here three hours and he hates it already. All the buildings are gigantic, hard and imposing, and the people here look like they have even less than he does. Ronon can't bring himself to steal food from them, not when they stare at him with flat, sad eyes, skinny and most of them sickly. 

He keeps moving through the streets, because if there are poor people, then there are rich people growing fat off their subjects' want. Ronon just has to find them, take what he needs, and then he can move on, hopefully before the Wraith track him here, before he brings death to the helpless and innocent of yet another planet. 

Ronon shrugs deeper into his coat against the misting rain, scanning his surroundings constantly, waiting for the buzz of Wraith darts, for something to go wrong as it inevitably will. He's just walking past the metal door to one of the huge buildings when it slams open. 

The person that bursts through the door is moving too fast for Ronon to get a good look at, but he can smell blood, and there's angry shouting. And then someone else is lunging out the door, catching up to the first, who turns out to be a boy, a few years younger than Ronon. 

The second is a man, tall and angry and drunk by the smell of him. He's got the boy by one arm, and Ronon watches the boy try to jerk free, kicking and punching, snarling with a surprising amount of venom, "Get off of me! Let me go, you son of a bitch!" 

The man shakes the boy, jerking him hard and then backhanding him across the mouth. Ronon jerks, watching the boy sag, adrenaline pouring into his bloodstream as he pushes his coat aside and finds himself walking back, even though he knows it's not his business, even though he knows he shouldn't concern himself with this. 

The man growls, "You fucking whore, I've got good money says you going to let me do as I fucking want with you, and you'll say fucking please and thank you for the fucking work." The boy looks up, hair plastered to his head by the rain, and he spits, more blood than anything. 

The man snarls, something wordless and angry, drawing his arm back again and Ronon grabs him. The man is big, but drunk, and probably not half the fighter Ronon is even sober. It's the work of a heartbeat to have him on the ground, spitting curses and blabbering. 

The boy jerks to his feet, blood slicking down his chin, blue eyes huge and scared. He's already walking backwards, ready to bolt, and Ronon growls, trying to remember how to talk to other people, "Wait. Did he pay you?" 

For a second the boy just stares at Ronon, shifting his weight from foot to foot but not running away. Then his expression hardens, his mouth twisting down severely in one corner, his voice tight and angry, "Fuck no he didn't pay me. He never pays." 

The boy has his arms crossed tight over his chest, and Ronon stares at him for a long moment. He's young. Younger than Ronon had been when the Wraith took him, skinny and bleeding and shivering from the cold rain in his thin clothes. The boy continues, warming to the rant, "And, oh, thanks for the busted up face, you asshole. That's sure to attract a decent customer, huh?" 

Ronon shifts his attention back to the man he's pinning to the ground. The man's stopped yelling, gasping for breath, his arm close to dislocated. Ronon twists a little more, looks back up to the boy, "How much does he owe you?" 

The boy blinks, and shrugs tiredly, waving one hand, "More than he's got. Fuck. It doesn't matter." He's wiping at the blood on his chin with his sleeve, wincing when he brushes his busted lower lip, and Ronon feels a sharp thrill of anger that people can't even be decent to each other. He twists, and dislocates the man's shoulder, ignoring the high pitched yell and jerking that follows. 

Ronon bends down, and growls in the man's ear, "You're going to give me what you have." 

And the man babbles, "Back pocket! Back pocket!" and Ronon snarls, slamming the man's forehead down into the ground hard enough to knock him out and fishing around for his wallet. It's not completely empty, though he doesn't know what the monetary system on this world is. 

The boy is still watching Ronon, looking puzzled and confused. Ronon folds the money up, steps across to the boy, grabs one of his wrists and presses the money into his hand. The boy has long, pale fingers, and he grabs the money, shoving it somewhere in his clothes faster than Ronon can track. It makes Ronon grin. 

Then the boy is sighing, something in his expression shifting to sorrow for just a moment before he says, "Come on, I know a place," turning, and walking away. 

For a moment Ronon just watches him go, but hell, there might be food wherever this place is. He catches up with the boy within a few steps. The boy walks with his head down, water dripping off his hair, running across the pale skin of his face. Ronon says, because he hasn't lost all memory of social interactions, "My name is Ronon. Ronon Dex." 

The boy tilts his head to look at Ronon, eyes tired, mouth twisted down, "How special for you. They call me Red." Ronon raises his eyebrows, but there's no further explanation provided. And then Red is turning down an alley and Ronon hesitates for a half second before following him. He's not exactly threatened by the boy. 

Halfway down the alley Red pushes a door open, sighing and grabbing the drunk woman collapsed on the doorstep, pulling her inside. 

Inside, it's still cold, but at least it's less wet, if not exactly dry. The lighting is poor, most of the lights blown out, all concrete walls and trash. Red leads him down a short hall, and then into a tiny square room with no door. 

The kid pulls his soaked shirt over his head, revealing pale skin, the skinny body that Ronon had expected. Red says, pulling his hair back at the nape of his neck and trying to wring some of the water from it, "I probably won't be able to suck you." 

Ronon blinks, looking around the empty room and then rumbling, "What?" 

Red just sighs, hopping in place when he tries to peel off his sodden pants, "Look, you really don't have to be coy. I appreciate the rescue. And the payment. Do you want," he waves a hand, "against the wall? Or on the floor? Can we use your coat if it's the floor? Because there's some broken glass around here somewhere and—" 

Ronon catches the boy's wrists, stilling his hands. Red flinches, ducking his head and bracing and Ronon feels something in his chest go tight. He says, "I wasn't trying to fuck you." 

"Please don't kill me," the words are barely a whisper, Red breathing fast and shallow, "Please, I really don't want to die," and he's shaking, either from cold or fear, Ronon doesn't know for sure. 

Ronon releases him, taking a step back, and the boy just sags in relief, crossing his arms tight and walking backwards. Ronon says, Red watching him the entire time with sharp, mistrusting eyes, "Or kill you. Look, I can't stay here long. I just need to get some food and then I'm leaving your world." 

For a long moment the boy just stares at him, and then he straightens, bending down to pick up his shirt and struggling back into it, "Sure. I can help you with that." And Ronon opens his mouth to point out that he wasn't actually asking for help, and that it would be nice if the random assumptions just stopped. 

But Red is already walking out the door, and Ronon grits his teeth and follows. 


End file.
